Chapter Text
Bruno slipped the wooden pin off the sheet, freeing the fabric from the taut laundry line and holding it gently in his fist as it billowed against his legs in the quiet breeze. The smell of soap and cotton wafted up and filled his lungs with fresh life, settling down his rushing thoughts like a comforting hand on his mind. He let the fabric hug him a moment longer, closing his eyes to hear the birdsong and feel the warmth of the sun on his face. He took slow breath and then folded the fabric over his arm, bunching it into a loose ball and tossing it into the basket at his feet.
Bruno enjoyed doing the laundry, despite the fact that the task had been given to him as an underhanded admonishment. It was the children’s chore–-rotated between Isabela, Dolores, and Luisa as soon as they were tall enough to reach the laundry line where it stretched between two trees on the east side of Casita. But a couple weeks ago, Abuela had suggested in a low and digging voice that Bruno should perhaps take up the task, if you are not going to be using your gift to help the family . He’d managed not to flinch at her words, but his knuckles had knocked frantically against the doorframe where he stood. Abuela’s mouth had tightened and her eyes had regarded him painfully, filled as always with that strange mix of guilt and accusation that seemed to say I just don’t understand you.
Little did his mamá know that the very task she thought would shame him into using his gift acted instead as a most welcome reprieve from all things magical. It was quiet, doing the laundry. His ever-present guilt was somewhat soothed as he did a menial task that nevertheless allowed him to contribute in a necessary way. It allowed him to help his family in a way that couldn’t possibly hurt them. It was nice to feel helpful.
It was also nice to be outside, out of his tower but with no obligation to go to town. The cool of the breeze, the feel of the fabric, the clean smell of the soap and the warm caress of the sun all merged into one sweet and soft experience of the senses that lifted him from the murkiness of his thoughts and reminded him of all the peace that was possible, if just outside of his grasp on most occasions. He’d begun looking forward to the laundry every few days.
He was sure it wouldn’t last, though. Mamá would soon realize that he was enjoying himself far too much and would insist he leave the chore to the children again, freeing his time for more empty space where visions should be, but wouldn’t be, disappointingly. But for now, the job was his, and he savored every moment.
He reached up and pulled another sheet down from the laundry line, repeating the motion of wrapping it over his arm into a loose bunch and tossing it toward the basket. Rather than the expected gentle fwump of falling fabric, a giggling shriek flew back at him, and he jumped back with a startled yelp. He looked down to find the sheet tented over a short, wiggling form that had somehow silently made its way between him and his laundry basket. He smiled and reached down to free the captive, lifting the fabric to reveal a grinning Mirabel, glasses crooked and curls tousled by the sheet that had encased her. Her small dimpled hands still stretched up above her head where she’d lifted them against the bundle as it fell over her.
“What are you doing, traviesa?” he said warmly.
“Mamá said to come help you!” she replied, turning to pull a garment out from the laundry basket and onto the grass, quite counterproductively. “Can I help, Tío?”
Bruno tossed the sheet he held into the basket and knelt in front of her, gently guiding her to replace the once-clean shirt back into the basket where it belonged. “Sure thing, kid. I was just thinking I needed some help.”
“Good thing I came,” she said assuredly, reaching out to play with the edge of his shirtsleeve where it rolled up on his forearm. She wiggled her fingers under and around the cuff absentmindedly while she stared up at the remaining clothes on the line, momentarily mesmerized by the movement. His heart warmed at the familiarity and ease her little touch conveyed. He loved that she was growing more comfortable around him by the day.
"Where's Camilo?" he asked.
"Tío Félix took him into town today," Mirabel replied sadly.
Ah. Mirabel was without her shadow, and thus without her entertainment. Bruno glanced back toward Casita. He suspected that it was in fact Julieta who needed help, if she was sending her newly-four-years-old menace down the lawn and out of the kitchen–-likely so Mirabel could distract her tío for a while instead of her mamá. But he wasn’t going to complain. Far from it; he took any chance he could to spend time near the tiny gift of light and joy that was his sobrina, and his sister knew it all too well.
“You know how to do it?” he asked Mirabel, tilting his head toward the line. She released his sleeve and eagerly bounced over to one of the hanging sheets, tugging at it roughly.
“Yes I know how,” she parroted back, but Bruno suspected otherwise. He pushed himself up by his knee and moved to stand beside her, carefully pulling loose the pin that held the sheet in place in perfect time with one of her tugs. She was sent tumbling backward as the heavy fabric unexpectedly came loose and tackled her. She let out a muffled grunt, but quickly scrambled to her feet, unperturbed, and lugged the bunched fabric to the basket, corners dragging behind her as she went. Bruno smiled and shook his head. The sheets would just have to get a little dirty, that’s all. There was no way he was going to put a damper on such determination by insisting on perfection.
As a matter of fact, if you really wanted to get down to it, he thought Mirabel was perfection already.
Mirabel had already moved on to another piece of the laundry, this time a shirt that hung just out of her reach. She jumped for it, her fingers just brushing the hem but unable to grip it to pull it down. Bruno scooped her up under her arms and held her so she was level with the clothesline. She giggled as she moved through the air in sudden flight, her little skirt fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. He pulled her close and sent one arm around her middle, shifting so he supported her from below with the other.
“Okay, see those wooden pins at the top?” Bruno instructed, nodding his head in their direction. “Those are what hold the laundry to the line. Pull those, and you’ll set ‘em loose. Try.” He jostled her slightly to prompt her into motion. She reached out and pulled up on one of the pins, clapping excitedly as the shirt fell loose. She pulled the other pin and it fell completely to the ground.
He carried her along the line, letting her pull each pin and carefully tuck them one by one into his shirt pocket, paying no mind to the steady line of slightly grassy laundry they left in their wake. When all had fallen to the ground like the colorful leaves from a strange tree, he set her down and she raced to pile them into her arms and carry them back to the basket.
Bruno thought for a moment while she ran to and fro. Normally he’d carry the basket inside now, folding clothes in the small back laundry room of Casita, but he thought perhaps Mirabel might run off to find her Mamá if they were back up to the house again. He of course didn’t want to bother Julieta if she’d needed a break…and perhaps he was enjoying this rare one-on-one time as well. Perhaps he didn’t want it to end quite yet. But who was keeping track of reasons, anyway?
He quickly pulled one of the sheets from the basket just before Mirabel returned to dump her armful of clothes on top of it. He stretched it wide and let the breeze spread it open, laying it down on the grass beside the basket and settling on top with crisscrossed legs. Mirabel clamored instantly into his lap.
“Okay, what’s next?” she asked.
“Hey, I thought you knew how to do it already,” he said, digging a finger gently into her side. She laughed and wiggled away from his hand.
“I do, I just forgot,” she said a bit defensively, and Bruno laughed.
“Now we fold it all,” he said.
“Right, fold it.”
Bruno pulled a shirt from the basket and held it in front of them, shaking it a bit to loosen the wrinkles and knock free some of the dried grass that now clung to all the laundry. Mirabel reached out open, curious hands, letting the fabric brush against her palms as Bruno swiftly folded the arms of the shirt back and guided it to fold over and down on itself neatly with one practiced movement. He set the shirt aside and managed to fold a couple more before Mirabel lost interest in watching and insisted on doing.
He dug through the pile until he uncovered two small napkins, handing one to her and keeping one for himself. Leaning forward and tilting his head up slightly to avoid a mouthful of her springy curls, he laid the square out on the ground and demonstrated how to fold the napkin first in half, and then to slowly roll it into a neat cylindrical bundle.
Mirabel attempted to fold her napkin in half, but struggled as the sides just didn’t seem to line up. She tugged at it for a bit, but quickly grew frustrated, mussing the napkin completely with angry hands and letting out a rageful grunt.
“Ay, patience, Mirabel,” he said, giving her a small squeeze that elicited another, slightly less angry grumble. “We’re doing laundry, not racing your primo. Go slow. Try again, I’ll help you.”
She took a quick breath, her little shoulders rising and falling with exasperation, before picking up the napkin to try again. This time, as she worked to fold the napkin in half, Bruno showed her how to tug the wayward edges into place. He let her start the bottom edge into a clumsy roll before putting his hands beside her small ones to gently push the fabric over itself. Mirabel held up the finished fold with a triumphant “Aha!”, and Bruno laughed at the enthusiasm that only a four year old could bring to this task.
“Nice, kid! You’ll be a pro in no time. You do the napkins, I’ll do the shirts, okay?”
They proceeded that way in silence for quite a while, Mirabel bent forward in concentration, carefully rolling napkins at their feet, and Bruno lifting each garment high to fold it in the air above her head.
“It’s hard going slow,” she said after they’d worked through about half the basket, throwing herself dramatically back over his knee so her head hung upside-down over the side and her curls splayed out on their sheet. She let out an exhausted sigh as if the weight of the world was hers to bear. Bruno rolled his eyes.
“Hard for you maybe, niña más rápida en El Encanto.” He pulled gently at the ends of the curls that hung from her upside down forehead. “Sometimes you need to be patient, kid. That’s life! You can’t hurry it. There you go, Tío wisdom of the day. You’re welcome.”
“But why do I have to be patent?” she whined.
“Patient.”
“That’s what I said.”
Bruno tried to stifle his grin, but she caught him and glared at him. “Well, chica, sometimes you have to wait a long time for good things to come. Trust me, I know aaaalllll about waiting.”
“How do you know aaaalllll about waiting?” she asked, innocently trying out his tone on her own words.
“Well…uh…I wait a lot, you know? When I have a…a vision. It could be a long time before it actually happens.”
She thought about that for a moment, sitting up and leaning her head on his chest instead. “What did you wait for?”
“D’you mean, what’s something I’ve waited for?” he clarified.
“Yeah.”
“Hm…” he looked up at the sky in thought, quickly shuffling mentally through his vast array of wildly-inappropriate-for-a-four-year-old visions to try to find one to use as an example. Nope. Nope. Oh definitely not, that one would give her nightmares… Ah, yes. Of course. “I waited for you,” he said, smiling down at her.
“Me?” she exclaimed, pulling her head from his chest and twisting to look at him.
“Yep. I had a vision a loooong time ago, when your mamá and papi had just met, of your pa playing with you. I didn’t know it was you , you know, at the time, but uh, now I do. But I couldn’t tell anyone! Had to keep it a special secret, because I am a wise prophet of the future and must not tell too much to the common people before they are ready to know it!" He lowered his voice and wiggled his fingers mysteriously in front of her nose. She laughed, scrunching her nose in response. "And then, well, I may have forgotten about it, for, for a bit…but then you were born and I remembered! I knew it was you the first time I got to hold you. And I had to wait all that time to meet you, years and years!”
Mirabel was looking at him with big, wide eyes and a shocked expression. He cleared his throat and fidgeted a bit under her gaze. He hadn’t spoken about his gift with her directly before, and he wondered suddenly if perhaps he shouldn’t have. Maybe he’d scared her; she was still so little. He winced.
“You waited that long ?!” she finally gasped, her voice full of awe, as if he had just told her the most impossible story she’d ever heard. “You’re amazing.”
Of course . Bruno let out the breath he was holding. Of course Mirabel was more awestruck by the concept of waiting more than ten minutes for something than by the fact that he actually foresaw her existence before her parents were even a couple. He supposed, to a four year old, that was the more remarkable aspect of the story.
“Yep. I’m, uh, pretty amazing," he muttered. He suddenly felt it was time for a subject change. Talk about visions and futures long enough and you're bound to turn a pleasant time into an awful one rather quickly. He knocked on the edge of the wicker basket. "So...so you think you can be patient while we finish the laundry? Can you go slow, jaguarcita?”
Mirabel looked back at the half-full pile of laundry still waiting to be folded and sighed. She held out her small hand for another napkin, and Bruno smiled and tickled her palm instead.
“You know, I think you’ve got some great things ahead of you, kid,” he added in a low voice, more to himself than to Mirabel, as he handed her a napkin to fold. “You may have to wait for some of ‘em, but they’ll be worth the wait, I bet.”
“Okay, Tío,” she said absently, her focus now wrapped back around her task. She stuck her small tongue out the side of her mouth as she worked, still settled comfortably, trustingly in his lap.
The afternoon sun poured around them like honey, and Bruno closed his eyes. An unfamiliar, weightless peace suddenly bloomed into his chest, planted there by this little girl in his lap who somehow never failed to see right past his gift. To find him amazing, not for his ability to see the future, but for his own uninteresting self. He pressed a grateful a kiss to the side of his sobrina's head and quietly watched her work, smiling all the while at her bright future that he’d needed no prophecy to see.